


Red

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Vegebul, Werewolf, fairy tale, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: "Hey there Little Red Riding Hood.  You sure are looking good.  You're everything a big bad wolf could want..." - Sam the Sham & The Pharaohs.Bulma was told not to stray from the path. But she had never been good at listening to advice, had she?A tale inspired by RedViolett's Red Riding Hood art.





	1. 01

**-Red-**

_“The beast, you see, is no superstition. It’s always existed, and always will. Inside of us.”_ \- Aaron Mahnke, LORE.

 

**01**

 

“Don’t stray from the path, dear.” It was a tired warning, one that no longer held any meaning beyond a parting farewell. How many times had it sent Bulma out the front door on her way to Roshi’s place to visit Goku and Krillin?

She didn’t pay it much heed. It was a warning for little girls, and as far as Bulma was concerned, she wasn’t one anymore. She was (almost) a woman, old enough to be courted by the young men in the village who milled about the water-fountain, thumbs hooked in their belt-straps as they watched her walk by, lips smirking and eyes narrowing in appreciation of the way she filled out her dress. But they were louts. Bulma had no time for their likes, and when they realized she couldn’t be sweet-talked they turned against her, mutterings of ‘odd’ or ‘stuck-up’ following at her heels and chasing her all the way home. Perhaps that’s why she found herself more and more taking the long hike through the woods to visit two little boys and an old man who, while vastly out of her age range at either end of the spectrum, always made her feel welcome.

The fall air was crisp as an apple and ripe with the smells of the forest. Swinging her basket back and forth, Bulma let her red hood rest on her shoulders to bask in the warmth of the sun. Winter would soon hit, and the snow would make the journey near-impossible. It might be the last chance she got before spring to boss the boys about in one of their make-believe adventures.

As bright as the day was, the forest either side of the her was steeped in shadow, the tall canopy blocking out the sunlight. An endless procession of trees marched off into the distance as far as the eye could see. She had seen a rabbit once and the occasional bird and squirrel, but otherwise the forest remained still, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass. She suspected her father’s warning came more out of concern of getting lost (the forest was _huge_ ) than from any real danger lurking within.

As her eyes trailed along the trees, something caught her eye: a little red and white toadstool. It sat by the edge of the path, endearingly plump and as colorful as a berry. Bulma crouched to admire it. She had seen these before, Roshi kept a few in his kitchen. An idea formed, and Bulma smiled to herself for being so clever. A collection of mushrooms would make a nice gift for the old lecher. Perhaps then he would be more interested in her basket than her bodice.

Bulma plucked the toadstool and examined it between pinched forefinger and thumb. What did these even taste like? Curiosity peaked, she popped it in her mouth and chewed. Almost immediately her nose crinkled at the bitter flavor. Ugh! How did Roshi stomach these things? She forced herself to choke down the rubbery flesh. Gross! The old man’s taste in food was as dubious as his taste in reading material. Still, she wasn’t going to let it deter her from her brilliant idea. Looking around, she tried to find more of the mushrooms. A patch grew just a few feet away inside the forest.

Bulma left the path to pick them. 

The change was immediate. Under the shade of the trees the air turned cool, heavy, settling over her skin like the breath of a ghost. Fighting off a shiver, Bulma raised her hood as she collected toadstools. The sun climbed ever onward towards its zenith, but she hardly noticed. In the woods, time stood still. 

It was taking much longer to collect the fungi than she had anticipated. The little things grew sparingly, forcing her to wander from patch to patch in order to fill her basket. She was careful to keep the path at her back. By the time she was done, sweat trickled down her brow. Boy, she really needed to leave her father’s study more. Finally satisfied with her haul, Bulma turned around to return to the path.

And saw only trees. Hundreds of them in every direction. She turned, and turned again, but the path which had been there only a moment ago had vanished. _Oh no, oh nooo…_ Okay, don’t panic. Think this through. Mentally, she began retracing her steps even as the basket handle creaked from her choke hold. She hadn’t walked very far… Had she? No, of course not, the forest was just dense, that’s all. A few paces and ta-da! There the path would be. Soon she would be on her way and laughing about that time she _almost_ got lost in the woods.

Filling herself with a bravado as thin and inflated as a paper lantern, Bulma headed off in the direction she was (mostly) confident she had come from. _Just a few paces_ , she told herself. _Any minute now, you’ll see the path._

Trees loomed about her like old gnarled fingers. Slowly — oh so slowly — they reached for her, catching at her dress and hood. The shadows grew denser, conjuring shapes that one tried very hard not to think about when alone and in a dark unfamiliar place. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something was watching her. 

Movement! Bulma turned around but only caught a rustling in the leaves of a nearby bush. Probably just an animal. A cute _harmless_ one. Nothing to panic over. The path was just ahead…

Oh please, just be up ahead.

Her breathing accelerated, Bulma continued on. One foot in front of the other, that’s all she could do. She was still sweating, her clothes clinging damply to her skin and causing her to shiver. It was nowhere near warm enough for her to be sweating so much, but she could worry about that after she had found her way out of this maze.

The further she went, the worse the terrain became. Wet leaves skidded under her boots and hidden twisted roots caught at her feet. She slipped, barely managing to brace herself against a large pine. Her heart thundered at her near-fall, her knees trembling in shock. Then the forest started to tilt sideways. _Oh god!_ She was reminded of the time her father allowed her a glass of wine at winter solstice. How grown up she had felt, up until the living room started to spin and she crawled into her father’s leather armchair by the fireplace to pass out. But she hadn’t drunk any wine today. What was happening? Something was really, definitely wrong with her.

A large dark shadow loped past.

Her head snapped to the side. Nothing was there. Was she imagining things now? And if so, why did she feel so afraid, like she was being hunted?

“Hello…?” Her voice barely broke a frightened whisper, skittering into the silence as a pebble bouncing across a lake to sink into the murky water below. Was she also doomed to disappear, swallowed up by the forest, never to be seen again?

The forest didn’t respond to her question, leaving her with only the rabbiting of her heart.

A stick snapped, and so did her bravery. She fled, running wildly through the woods and away from her invisible pursuer. But it was abundantly clear that she wasn’t well. On a good day, Bulma had no trouble keeping up with the boys, running and playing by turtle lake for hours. Now though, her lungs burned and her knees threatened to collapse. The forest spun, and she couldn’t get her footing right. The ground slipped out from under her. She fell.Crying in alarm, Bulma reached for the nearest tree—

“Ouch!”

Pain flaring as her hand struck something sharp. She landed on the grass, her basket rolling away. A quick glance found the skin on her hand had split open and was bleeding. A lot.

It broke her. Her little paper lantern of confidence immolated to ash. Hot, wet tears pressed at the back of her eyes. It wasn’t fair, she had only wanted to gather a few mushrooms. Why hadn’t she heeded her father’s warning?

Curling up on the forest floor, Bulma wept.

_Thump!_

A sound roused her from her self-pity. Blinking through tears, she looked up to see a large dark shape. It sat in the shadows only a few feet away. Eyes glittered darkly, shining like the black carapace of an insect. They watched her. A predator weighing its next meal. Fear froze her.

 _Thump!_ Long and furry, a tail rose up and flopped down against the earth in contemplation.

What manner of animal was it? Could she outrun it as weak as she was?

_Thump!_

Its tail once more struck the ground and at her nerves. She hated being afraid. Fear — her father taught her — was from a lack of understanding or a lack of control. Both were an insult to her identity. She prided herself on her intelligence and ability to take charge, even if she was mocked for it in town. So what if she didn’t know what this animal was or couldn’t outrun it. It was an animal. Bulma knew animals. Her parents had a whole menagerie of them. Most would scatter from loud sounds. Bulma raised her chin and gathered her frayed nerves to show how very not afraid she was. “It’srude to stare, you know!” she shouted, hoping to shoo the creature away.

The beast’s eyes narrowed. Mercilessly, they sucked all the fiery indignation out of her until Bulma was left a terrified shell. 

The creature rose. Impossibly, it grew taller and taller until it doubled in height. The air froze in Bulma’s lungs, her mind unable to process what she saw. Then it clicked: it wasn’t growing, it was _standing_. _He_ was standing. He came towards her, his movements strangely fluid, almost hypnotic. _Not human, not human!_ The thought raced wildly about in her head, spinning and bouncing inside her mind and screaming RUN RUN RUN. 

She couldn’t, her legs wouldn’t respond. All she could do was stare in mounting dreadas he got closer and closer. He was an impossible marriage between man and beast. He wore strange clothes but walked on bare feet, and navigated the underbrush with preternatural agility. Tall elfin ears stood up either side of a brooding face. The tips were covered with fur the same black of his spiky, widow’s peaked hair. Muscles rippled impressively under his scarred, dirty skin. Any thoughts of escape were quickly forgotten; he would catch her in an instant. This was _his_ world. He was built for it. 

He stopped in front of her, looming tall and menacing as he glared down at the miserable human who dared enter his domain. His mouth thinned unhappily, and Bulma waited, blood draining from her face to see what he did. 

For an endless eternity, he did nothing. Time stretched and held. Then, gracefully, he sat next to her. 

It was not what she expected. _Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum!_ The thundering of her heart echoed loudly in her ears as she came to terms with the fact that she was still alive.

The man-creature glared at her, agitation written on his face. Her eyes were magnetized to him half in fear, half in awe. What did he want from her? What even _was_ he?

When he did not eat her, Bulma felt a little of her courage come clawing back. Questions formulated in her mind. If he wasn’t going to break the silence, then she would. As Krillin would say, she had a psychological incapability of staying quiet for long.

“Y-you really frightened me.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and his ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but otherwise he did not respond.

Bulma tried again. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that. Especially not a lady. It’s not polite. What are you even doing out here? Do you live here? I’ve never seen anyone like you before. I don’t suppose you know where the path is? I got turned around and…” her voice trailed off when she saw her words falling on deaf ears. The man just glared at her, without any acknowledgement that he understood or cared about what she said. It occurred to her that he might not speak English.

Maybe he didn’t speak at all.

Maybe he was still deciding whether or not to eat her. Well, this was just _great_.

His eyes flicked down to her bleeding hand. 

 _Thump!_ went his tail. His nostrils flared. There was a subtle change in his posture. Muscles shifted as he suddenly reached for her hand — 

With claws for fingernails!

“No don’t—!” Bulma blurted out, reeling back in terror.

He stopped dead, ears flattening back on his head. Slowly, he retracted his hand, drawing up a knee and distancing himself from her. An awkward silence built between them, both girl and man eyeing each other warily. Something dark and painful flashed in his eyes. She saw her own uncertainty mirrored in him. 

Oh, he was just as nervous as she was. He might look half a beast, but that didn’t make him one, did it. Bulma rarely felt shame, she was far too head-strong and proud to acknowledge when she was wrong. But she felt it wash over her now. She was no better than those boys by the water fountain, judging others indiscriminately.

“…Sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her lap. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just,” she hesitated, and recent events rushed up and overwhelmed her. Tears welled in her eyes as she unloaded her woes on the silent stranger. “I’m lost and I don’t feel well, and I cut my hand and it really, really hurts, and you scared me, is all. I don’t know what to do or how to get out of  this mess. But you don’t even speak English so why am I even telling you any of this is beyond me.”

_Thump!_

The swatting of his tail caused her to jump, and she saw the agitated expression back on his face. His gaze was piercing and filled with an intelligence that felt endless. Eternal.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he held out his palm. Bulma swallowed and gave him her hand.

He cradled it like one would a baby bird, his touch surprisingly warm and gentle. He was careful not to cut her with his claws. Throwing her one last wary look, he raised her wound to his face and inhaled. The scent of her blood hit him full force, and his muscles tightened. A deep rumbling erupted from his chest. Half-growl, half-purr, it vibrated all the way up her arm and into her bones. Logic demanded that she run from a growling beast, but logic had abandoned her the moment she stepped into this forest. The sound he made awoke something inside her, calling to a part of herself she never knew existed. It _ached_. Something thrummed and flowered in her lower belly, flushing her all over with warmth. Embarrassed, and confused, Bulma ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. 

Indifferent to the reaction he evoked within her, the man brought her hand to his mouth and ran his tongue over her wound.

“O-oh!” 

If she was blushing before, she was glowing as red as her hood now. His eyes opened and trapped her. Pupils, fully dilated, were as dark as the night sky and burned with a raw power that demanded obedience. She whimpered as his tongue dragged over her wound again and again, coming away wet and red with blood. A wicked glint danced in his eyes. 

It felt like she was falling, air difficult to come by. Each swipe of his tongue tore away another layer of herself. Was this hot, drunk feeling his doing, or a symptom of her illness? The forest started tilting again, and she put a hand to her brow in hopes of stopping it.

The gesture gave the man pause. He frowned and sniffed the air, and his scowl deepened. Something was wrong. She didn’t smell, did she? There was no way, she had bathed just that morning, always so fastidious about her cleanliness. But whatever it was had him leaning in until his nose ghosted over her cheek and lips. _Oh my god!_ Every muscle in her body tensed. She didn’t dare move, watching him with wide eyes as he smelled her. Personal space was not part of his vocabulary. If he even had a vocabulary. 

His lips peeled back in a silent snarl to reveal bloodied canines. “You are a _stupid girl_.” His voice was deep and rumbling, more growl than speech. Each word was spoken as if he were unaccustomed to talking.

“What?” She gasped, too stunned that he could talk to be eloquent.

Black eyes shifted past her to where her basket lay, bright red toadstools spilling out. His sneer deepened. 

“How many?” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of mushrooms and shaking them at her in accusation.

“I… ” What could she say? She didn’t understand why he was so angry.

“Idiot!” he reprimanded again, his tail bristling as it _thumped thumped_ between them. “How many of these did you eat?”

Oh no. She didn’t like that implication. Skin prickling in fear, she stammered, “J-just the one.”

He dropped the mushrooms on the ground in disgust, letting them scatter. “They cannot be eaten raw,” he scolded her. “Even a pup knows that!”

Oh god. It all fell into place, all her strange symptoms and emotions upon entering the forest. It was from the mushroom she had eaten. It must have been toxic… Wait, _how_ toxic? “A-am I going to die?” she asked, her voice tight with fear.

The man huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a reproachful look. “You’ll live.”

What little relief she felt was dampened by the inflection of his voice. He made it sound like her side-effects were far from over. They both lapsed into silence, Bulma fretting over her health, the man glaring at her as if worried for her mental capability.

“Should I see a doctor?” she inquired.

His brow pulled down, fingers flexing on his biceps. Finally, begrudgingly, he growled, “What’s that?”

… He didn’t know what a doctor was? He really wasn’t human. “It’s someone who helps you when you’re sick.”

“Hn. Unnecessary.”

That made Bulma feel a little better. Satisfied that she wasn’t dying, she allowed her attention to shift back to her strange companion. He looked like he had stepped out of a story book. No one was going to believe her.

“I’m Bulma,” she offered. He eyed her skeptically but did not respond. “…And you are?” she prompted. 

He puffed up his chest, sitting up straighter. “Vegeta, Prince of all Úlfhé _ð_ nar.”

Prince of all what? “Ulf-heth-nar?” she tried to mimic the foreign word. “I don’t know that place.”

“Tch. It’s not a place,” Vegeta said, aggrieved. “ _I_ am Úlfhé _ð_ nar.”

“I see…” Wasn’t he just _brimming_ with helpfulness? “So, it’s your people? Does that mean there are more like you?” 

Something painful flashed in his eyes, and he looked away.

Bulma wished she could take back the question. She began to apologize when Vegeta’s head jerked up, ears perking, something in the distance catching his attention. Faster than her eyes could track he was up, tense and on guard.

“Get up,” he told her in a harsh whisper. “We must leave this place. Your blood attracts them.”

“Attracts who?” she asked, searching the woods for what had caught his attention, but all she could see was trees.

He didn’t respond, grabbing her basket and holding out an impatient hand for her.

She took it and tried to stand, but the moment she did the world spun wildly and she found herself back on the ground, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” Her muscles felt like jelly. She pressed a hand over her eyes to fight off her dizziness. She needed to rest, just for a moment…

“Hey! Stupid girl,” Vegeta barked at her.

Her head jerked up, blinking open eyes that she didn’t remember closing.

He made a frustrated sound. “Why are you humans so infuriatingly weak?” Teeth gnashing together, he gave a final look around before coming to a decision. And scooped her into his arms. 

“Oh!”

He carried her into the trees, his movements limber and quick, unimpeded by her weight. She felt as tiny as a doll in his arms. The forest still spun in crazy circles. She shut her eyes to ward it off and buried her nose into the fur pelt he wore over his shoulder. The scent of the forest was on him: the earth and leaves, damp fur, and something richer, muskier. Masculine. It was nice.

“Where are we going?” she mumbled.

“Quiet.” 

She pouted into the pelt, but weariness soon clawed at the edges of her consciousness. The scent of him was the last thing she remembered before succumbing to sleep.

 

-xoXox-

 

 **AN:** inspired by RedViolett’s Red Riding Hood AU for the Vegebulzine, _Under Every Moon_.

Thanks to Stupidoomdoodles and MarcellaDuchamp for their feedback ^_^ <3


	2. 02

-02-

 

The babble of running water beckoned, blending with her dreams and gently coaxing her awake. Bulma groaned, stubbornly fighting consciousness by burying her face into warm fur and drowning in its comforting musky smell. But the more she tried to fight it, the more her dreams eluded her, chased away by the sound of splashing water. With a long sigh of resignation, Bulma cracked open her eyes. She was lying alone on a river bank, snuggled up to a fur cowl while forest leaves danced playfully overhead. The forest? Right. Memories filtered back: the path, the red mushrooms, getting lost and feeling sick… and a strange man-creature, Vegeta. Or had she hallucinated it all?

She got her answer soon enough when another splash of water caught her attention. Crouched further down the river was her unusual rescuer, sloshing water over his face and torso. Not a figment of her imagination then. He was real. Handsome too, regal even, with high cheek bones and a sharp nose made for looking down on others. Befitting of a prince, although why a prince would be living out here in the woods, dirty and alone, Bulma couldn’t fathom.

He rinsed himself off in the river, sitting naked from the waist up, his tattered black shirt laying on a nearby rock. Bulma had seen strong men before — Yamcha, a young man from town, used to cut wood for her family. _Thunk_ , _thunk,_ the axe would swing down mightily, rending logs in two. Perched stealthily by her window, Bulma watched, hoping the day would grow warm enough for the boy to remove his shirt. But that memory now paled next to the display before her. Not only did Vegeta’s physique outstrip Yamcha’s but also the illustrations in her father’s anatomy books. She had traced those diagrams a thousand times with her fingertips as she dedicated the names of muscles to memory. She found herself doing the same now, tracing Vegeta with her eyes from trapezius to abdominal obliques. He ducked down to scoop up water, neck and back stretching, thick arms bunching. His biceps were bigger than her thighs! Muscles shifted, rippling under his scarred skin as he bathed. There were _a lot_ of scars. Vegeta was moulded from a hard life, not an inch of softness about him. Bulma couldn’t look away, awe-struck.

 Water ran over his sun-kissed skin and fell to the forest floor below, droplets catching in the light like melting diamonds. After thoroughly dousing himself, Vegeta got on all fours and shook the water off like a dog. It left his hair standing up in unruly tufts, even his tail puffed up. Bulma stifled a laugh. 

When he reached for his shirt, she caught sight of a broad chest and hard abdominals, the likes of which shamed her mother’s washboard. The view lasted only a moment before he pulled on his shirt and looked up in her direction.

Bulma clamped her eyes shut. Crap. Had he seen her staring? How mortifying! Trying to calm her breathing, Bulma feigned sleep. The soft — almost silent — pad of his feet on the earth told her of his approach, as did the growing smell of wet fur. _Thump!_ His tail struck the ground right in front of her, nearly making her flinch. She waited but nothing happened. What was he doing? The seconds dragged by one after the other, stretching her nerves thinner with each passing moment as she waited to see what he intended to do.

Never would she guess that he would pet her. Coarse fingers touched her brow and gently brushed back her bangs, tucking them behind the shell of her ear. His touch was so light, reverent, barely ghosting her skin and leaving her with a strange yearning for more. She curled her fingers tighter in the fur pillow.

He pressed his palm to her forehead and rested it there for a moment. Testing her temperature, she realized. Was he concerned about her? How long had she been asleep? Before she could puzzle it all out, Vegeta’s hand fell away. 

“When you’re done pretending to sleep, you should drink some water.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. Bulma opened her eyes and found Vegeta staring at her sternly. Squirming under his gaze, she felt like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. Go figure that his senses were more acute than that of a human’s. Bulma tried to sit up, but pain lanced up her right hand.

“Ouch!”

“Careful,” he reprimanded harshly. He lifted her into a sitting position, his strength sobering. If he wished it, he could overpower her in an instant. Her blood pressure spiked at the thought. “Try not to use it, or the wound will re-open.”

Bulma looked down at her right hand. It was bandaged in leaves, neatly tied by a braid of grass. It would have taken time and patience to make. He had done this for her? Why? It would have been so easy for him to abandon her. Instead, he had taken care of her. 

Bulma ran her fingers lightly over his handiwork. “Thank you.”

His face twisted up. “Think nothing of it,” he grumbled, looking away. “Blood attracts others. That is all.”

If that was true, why wouldn’t he leave her to protect himself? He might not want to admit it but for some reason, Vegeta cared.

“Well, thank you all the same.”

His tail flicked back and forth, his eyes slipping to the side to regard her surreptitiously. “Drink,” he reminded her, his tone firm, putting an end to her gratitudes.

Right — water! She was parched. Careful of her injured hand, Bulma slid to the river’s edge and scooped up fresh water. It tasted so wonderfully crisp and clean. Revitalizing. Her body came alive with every mouthful. Gosh, she had been really dehydrated. She drank until her belly was full, then splashed her cheeks and neck to freshen up. When she glancing up, she caught Vegeta watching her. 

Their eyes met, and his face hardened. He looked away, tail thumping the ground in agitation. 

“Can you walk?” he asked gruffly.

Good question. He had needed to carry her before, but standing up now Bulma found that her dizziness had — thankfully — gone. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then we move.”

He retrieved his fur cowl that he had given to her as a pillow and slipped it back on. Picking up her basket he headed off, not waiting to see if she followed.

She did.

It wasn’t hard to catch up; he kept his pace easy for her benefit, allowing her the chance to enjoy the peace of the forest. Birds called, the wind rustled sweetly through the leaves, and the babbling of the river followed at their backs. Beautiful. Was this the same forest she had been afraid of earlier? It was hard to reconcile the two together.

However, trees were only interesting for so long. Bulma’s eyes wondered again and again to her taciturn companion. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but his presence and powerful build were as imposing as a giant. Her eyes lingered on the bare skin at the nape of his neck and his upper arms, admiring every ridge and scar. The play of his muscles moving under his clothes was mesmerizing. 

“Stop dawdling,” Vegeta snapped at her, giving her a side-eyed glare over his shoulder.

Blushing, Bulma picked up the pace, hoping he hadn’t caught her staring yet again. But Vegeta was too preoccupied with their surroundings than where her eyes had been. His own were narrowed, scanning the woods, ears perked for any unwelcome sounds. 

His wariness infected her, a seed of unease growing in her belly. “Are we safe here?” she asked, keeping her voice low just to be sure. Twice now he had warned about ‘others’. 

He huffed. “Safety is an illusion.”

Well, that wasn’t reassuring. She chewed over his response, the little seed taking root and growing into full-blown concern. Bulma liked to think she was brave. At the edge of her town was a dilapidated farmhouse. It was famous for being ‘haunted’, and the children would go there to dare each other to enter. When she was eight, Bulma had entered when the other boys were too chicken to do so. The house stank of mildew, and was so dark that Bulma couldn’t see her hands in front of her face. It was terrifying, but she had done it. Never mind that she got turned around and couldn’t find the exit out, or that at the first scary sound she had fled into the nearest corner and burst into tears. The boys outside eventually concluded that she had been eaten by a ghost, and ran to fetch her father. 

She was told she had been in there for only an hour (a new record, thank you _very_ much), but it had felt much longer. Bulma was a mess by the time her father arrived. Yet all it took was for him to wrap his fingers around her hand and offer her his kind, no-nonsense smile from under his bushy mustache, and Bulma felt all her fears melt away. It was after that incident that he taught her about fear being only a symptom of ignorance. He took her back to the farmstead in the light of day to see just how unimpressive it really was.

But her father wasn’t here now. Vegeta was. Moving closer to him, Bulma slipped her hand into his. 

His eyes widened, glancing at her in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Can I?” She asked.

He looked comically startled. “Why?”

“I feel safer like this.”

“Safer?” he nearly choked on the word. _With me_ was implied, and Bulma guessed his conundrum. He thought she was scared of him.

Yes, Vegeta was intimidating and gruff, but her father had taught her to see things as they were, not as they appeared to be. Vegeta was strong, knowledgable of the forest, and most importantly, had taken care of her.

“Yes, safer.”

A slow blush crept up his neck. Despite his discomfort, he allowed his fingers to close around her hand, careful to keep his claws out of the way. “Stupid girl,” he grumbled under his breath.

Bulma smiled, charmed by his embarrassment. The knot in her belly eased.

They continued walking hand in hand, their silence comfortable. But Bulma couldn’t stay quiet for long.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked. 

“As long as I can remember.”

“Isn’t it lonely?”

“The forest is filled with wildlife.”

“I meant, don’t you have any friends?”

He cast her an agitated look. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Yes.” She grinned.

“Tch.” After a short pause, he surprised her by asking, “And what of you? Do you have… friends?”

“Oh, yes! There’s Goku and Krillin. They’re younger than me but we adventure together. They live far away though. I don’t get to see them as often as I would like…” She trailed off, lapsing into silence. Thinking of her friends — the place she was supposed to be — made her realize she had no idea where Vegeta was leading her. “Hey, where are we going?”

“To the old man’s den, obviously.”

Old man? Was he an elder of Vegeta’s species? “Is he like you? An Úlfhé _ð_ nar?”

“Idiot. _Your_ old man.”

Her old man? Wait, was he talking about Roshi? Bulma stopped in her tracks. It took Vegeta a second before the tug on their hands stopped him. He turned to see what the hold-up was.

“What is it?”

“ _My_ old man?” Bulma repeated. “The one who lives by Turtle Lake?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replied, looking impatient. “He cares for the pup and the bald one. That _is_ where you were headed, isn’t it?”

Bulma let his hand go, looking at Vegeta suspiciously. “I never told you that.”

He went rigid, his ears twitching nervously. “…Yes, you did,” he replied after a hesitation, crossing his arms over his chest and looking off to the side. “You mumbled it in your sleep.”

Wow, what a terrible liar. Bulma put a hand on her hip. “Oh really?” she drawled, not buying it.

“What does it matter?” he snapped. “I’m taking you where you need to go.”

She eyeballed him closely: the stiffness of his shoulders and jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the uneasy flick of his tail. He had been caught and they both knew it. 

How did he know about her friends? If Goku and Krillin were familiar with a beast-man, they would have told her. One time the boys caught a horned beetle, and they _still_ talked about that years later. So if Vegeta wasn’t acquainted with them, that meant there was only one other explanation. 

Bulma took two purposeful steps towards Vegeta. His ears flattened at her proximity, his tail curling meekly between his legs. She poked him in the chest with a firm index finger.

“You know what I think? I think you’ve been watching me.”

A red stain crept over his face. “…I watch many things. The alpha protects his territory.”

“Is that so? Is the _path_ part of your territory?” she quizzed. He didn’t respond, but the growing blush that reached his ears was answer enough. She smiled triumphantly. “Ha! I’m right, aren’t I? You _have_ been spying on me! For how long?” It was more baffling than upsetting. Why had he never said hello? How many times had he watched her walk the path? 

Vegeta refused to be interrogated further. Turning sharply, he walked off, his fingers grinding on her basket’s handle.

Bulma hurried after him, smirking with vindication. “I suppose it’s understandable,” she mused aloud for his benefit. “You watching me, that is. I mean, it’s not every day you see a pretty girl walking down the path, huh?”

No response. He was still blushing, his jaw working in embarrassment. Poor guy. Social interactions weren’t his forte. Which probably explained why he had never introduced himself. Or — more likely — because she would have run screaming at the sight of a beast-like stranger approaching her from the woods… Oh, no wonder he had kept to himself. Still, she knew better now. Vegeta meant her no harm. 

Pushing her fingers back between his, she took pity on teasing him. “If you must know, it’s not every day I see a handsome prince either.”

He shot her a withering look, unsure if she was still poking fun at his expense. She smiled warmly to reassure him.

“Tch, idiot girl,” he grumbled, still blushing hard.

“Mm.”

They walked onwards, Bulma peppering the silence with questions: How far until they got there? _As long as it took._ How did he get his scars? _Surviving._ Could she touch his ears? _Absolutely not_. What did he do for shelter? _Whatever was available._ What did he eat? _Annoying little girls who asked too many questions._

“What do annoying little girls taste like?” she asked playfully.

“Like sunshine and strawberries.”

His answer surprised her. Looking up, she found him smirking, watching her from the corner of his eyes. It made her heart trip over itself before remembering to beat again.

Was he teasing, or being serious? He _had_ tasted her blood.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really. So _don’t tempt me_ ,” he warned, his eyes dancing with what she hoped was amusement and not hunger. He pulled her closer, leaning in to whisper hotly in her ear. “Or I might gobble you up.”

Ducking her face to hide her blush under her hood, Bulma remained unusually quiet as they continued on their way. Which — come to think of it — was probably Vegeta’s plan all along. 

The smug jerk.

 

-xoXox-

 

 **AN** : Thanks to Stupidoomdoodles for helping me tidy up the draft ^_^

Just to clarify, this story is NOT based on RedViolett’s Red Riding Hood _comic_. Her comic and my story are unaffiliated (but you should totally check her comic out because it’s super creative and I can’t wait to see more of it!). This story was inspired by the _illustration_ she drew for the Vegebulzine, _Under Every Moon_ , which depicted a Red Riding Hood AU.

 


	3. 03

**-Red-**

03

 

The day wore on, but Vegeta’s good mood waned. He grew quieter and more tense, eyeing the trees suspiciously, long ears flicking back and forth in search of something. His restless demeanor made Bulma’s stomach churn. 

He finally stopped their progress and sniffed the air. Whatever he smelled did not please him, a sneer twisting his features. 

“What is it?” she asked, hoping to keep her nerves from her tone.

His eyes narrowed, and his lip curled up to bare a sharp canine. “We’re being hunted.”

_Hunted?!_

Before she could reply, he grabbed her about the middle and picked her up.

“Vegeta, what—!”

He carried her quickly to a nearby tree with a hollowed-out trunk, and pushed her and her basket inside.

Bulma squealed in alarm. “Hey! What are you doing? Don’t put me in here, there are spiders and bugs and—”

His hand covered her mouth, eyes boring into hers. “Be quiet. Do not move from here _no matter what_. Do you understand me?”

No, she didn’t. How dare he treat her like this! She wasn’t a disobedient child to be manhandled. But the moment she saw how grave he looked, her indignation fled, morphing into fear. He was serious. Something hunted them. Her heart crescendoed so violently she could feel it against her ribcage. 

Vegeta took her silence as acceptance. He let his hand slip away, and stood to leave. 

No no no, oh god, he couldn’t leave her here! Panic-stricken, Bulma reached out, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “Vegeta, wait!” Where was he going? _What if he didn’t come back?_ “D-don’t leave me, please. I want to stay with you.” 

He looked down at her, his expression hard to read. Black eyes flicked to where her fingers clung to his shirt. Trembling. He sighed and crouched back down. In an oddly paternal gesture, he adjusted her hood around her face.

“You are safer _here_. I will come back for you.”

“No,” she persisted, tears welling in her eyes. She felt safer with _him_ , not hidden in a tree. Memories of the abandoned farmhouse came crashing down on her, only this time her fears were not imagined, and her father would not come save her. She was in real danger. Without Vegeta, she was alone, lost, and helpless.

His face was as inscrutable as marble. Only his eyes gave away that some internal debate was taking place. After a moment, he removed his fur cowl and wrapped it securely about her shoulders. 

“I _will_ come back,” he promised again. “Repeat your instructions back to me.”

Bulma clung to his cowl, fighting back her tears. Vegeta wasn’t going to bend on the matter. She lowered her head, burying her nose sullenly in the fur. “I’m to stay quiet, and not leave,” she mumbled, hoping the fur would muffle most of her terror.

He gave her a small nod, and the ghost of a smile. “Good girl.”

Springing to his feet, he was off before she could raise any more protests. Within a breath he vanished into the woods, as swift and silent as the wind. Leaving her alone.

Burying her face completely in his fur, Bulma wished for his safe and swift return.

The silence swallowed her up, deafening.

* * *

-xox-

 

Time was hard to judge. Bulma didn’t know how long she stayed huddled in the tree, only that it felt like hours. Every tiny sound had her jumping in fear. _Crick!_ Was that the wind, a rustling leaf, Vegeta? Or someone… _something_ else? Dread bubbled up inside her, swelling until it felt like she was going to suffocate from it.

Far away, something squealed. It was shrill and horrifying. Then just as suddenly as it began, the sound stopped. Somehow, the silence was far worse.

Bulma made herself as small as possible and clutched Vegeta’s fur cowl pitifully.

Nearby, a stick snapped. Her fingers dug into the cowl until her knuckles turned white.

“It’s me,” a gruff voice announced.

Relief flooded her. Unfolding stiff legs, Bulma scrambled out of the trunk and threw herself at Vegeta in a hug. She hit him hard enough to force back her hood and knock the air from him. “I’m so glad you’re back! What took you so long? I was losing my mind waiting here all by myself.”

She squeezed him tighter and he tensed, the hint of a pained sound escaping him. A metallic smell filled the air. Pulling back, Bulma saw what was wrong.

“Oh my god, you’re _hurt_!” Blood seeped between his fingers from where he held his injured left shoulder. Raising a hand to her mouth in shock, she asked, “What happened?”

“Never mind that,” he snapped. Frustration darkened his features. He let go of his shoulder to take her chin between his fingers. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.

Bulma blinked at him, baffled.  “Am _I_ hurt? _You’re_ the one who’s—”

“Idiot!” he snapped with impatience. “Tell me if you’re hurt. This is important.”

“N-no. Just my hand.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicious. Leaning in, he sniffed her cheek to confirm her words. His nose ghosted over her skin, brushing up to snuffle at her ear, his warm breath tickling her. She could smell him from this close. It was earthy and pleasant. Bulma’s heartbeat suddenly sounded far too loud to her own ears. Perhaps the mushroom’s toxin hadn’t flushed completely from her system yet. Her knees were weak again.

“Tch.” Vegeta let her go and stepped away with a huff of displeasure. Sitting down, teeth gnashing, he glared at the ground before him. “If they’re not tracking blood, why would they cross into my territory?” 

He lapsed into silence, his right hand grabbing his left shoulder. Bulma hesitated over what to do. She wanted answers from him, but his condition was far more troubling. Fat red drops of blood continued to run down his arm and drip to the mulch below, but Vegeta was too lost in his thoughts to pay his injury too much attention. 

Bulma was no stranger to injuries. She helped her parents treat a lot of wounded animals, and Goku and Krillin needed doctoring almost every time she visited. The boys liked getting into all sorts of mis-adventures and sparring matches that — more often than not — resulted in scraped knees and gnashed brows. A wound that bled this much needed attention. 

With ginger steps, she approached Vegeta’s side and sank to a seat. “Can I?” she asked, indicating his shoulder. 

Black eyes slid up to weigh her. He tried sitting up a little taller, puffing up in a manner that was all too reminiscent of the young men preening by the water-fountain. “It is nothing. You need not concern yourself.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes. Men and their egos. Apparently it transcended species. Why did they always feel the need to act so tough? Vegeta’s face was pale, and his posture radiated tension. He might be used to such injuries (if the mountain of scars he wore were anything to go by), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in pain. She sighed.

“This doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.”

His ears flattened. “I am fine.”

“Fine? You’re bleeding everywhere!”

“I am functional and perfectly capable of protecting you. What else matters?”

Any further argument lodged in her throat. _Protect her?_ It was so embarrassing when he said it like that, but what else would you call it? He had stuck to her side like glue ever since they met. He could have left her so many times, yet he didn’t. He had carried her, healed her. Even put himself in harms way for her. Heat rose to her cheeks. 

“Why?” she asked, baffled by his motives.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?” 

The question caught him off guard, surprise flashing in his eyes before he could school his features back into nonchalance and look away. “What do my reasons matter?” 

“They matter to me. You’re risking your life for me. Why would you do that?”

His cheek twitched — whether from his pain or his struggle to find an answer, she couldn’t tell. “…The alpha protects his territory.” He looked up. Eyes normally so black and hard to read, swam with a fierce emotion. “I won’t let them harm you.”

The intensity of his promise made her chest ache. She struggled to find air to speak. “But… what about you?”

“It’s not me they want. They’re tracking you.”

Dread struck her, crashing into her like an icy wave. “Me? Why me?”

His brow furrowed and his eyes clouded over with dark frustration. “That’s what I would like to know.”

They fell into an uneasy silence. 

Why would anyone be tracking her? It made no sense. She had no enemies, and until today she had never even been within the forest, let alone known of anyone who lived here. What did anyone want with her? 

A kaleidoscope of horrid images flashed before her mind’s eye, dredged up from grisly tales that the old woman in town liked to tell. Baba would spin morbid stories — disobedient young women who got themselves imprisoned, raped, and often eaten alive — all in an effort to encourage good behavior from the girls in town. Bulma never believed the stories, not completely. They had always been too far-fetched, too awful to be real. When she asked one-too-many questions, Baba evicted her from the old hut with a sharply-pinched ear and a grumble of, “No helping this one”. But right now, deep in the forest and with a beast-man for her companion, Bulma wondered if Baba’s parables were more credible than she had thought. Would hers be the next tale spun, a warning to never leave the path?

Would she ever see her home, her family, or her friends again?

“Hey. Girl.”

Bulma startled, looking up, Vegeta’s voice pulling her back from her spiraling thoughts. 

Onyx eyes watched her closely. “Don’t be afraid.” His voice was softer than before. “I will keep you safe.”

 _Oh._ Why did her heart flutter so wildly in her chest, and her stomach turn to goo? Feeling shy, Bulma lowered her eyes and tried to get a handle over her emotions. “You won’t be keeping anyone safe if you bleed out because of that arm.”

“I told you, it is—“

“Nothing. Right. I got that. Well, if it’s so ‘nothing’, then you won’t mind me taking a look, will you?”

Vegeta _tsked_ in annoyance, but removed his hand from his shoulder and allowed her to sate her curiosity.

Taking great care, Bulma pushed back his sleeve. It was sticky and drenched in blood, and peeled away with great reluctance. Revealing his shoulder, she gasped at the sight. The flesh was an angry red and torn in deep even serrations. Each one oozed blood. Something had _bitten_ him. Something _big_. Such a wound would need stitches and weeks to heal. He was lucky it was his shoulder and not his throat.

Vegeta had taken this, to spare her? What kind of creature could have caused such a wound? Horrified, her eyes dragged up from his mangled shoulder to search his face. “Vegeta, what _happened_?”

He met her gaze stoically. “I took care of it.”

“Took care of it? What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer her, his silence condemning. _Vegeta… what did you do?!_

Bulma swallowed back a lump in her throat. This wasn’t her world. This was the forest. Only the strong survived. She had read books about natural selection, and seen predators hunt. Still, she couldn’t stop her fingers trembling as she went back to examining his wound.

_Thump!_

The sound of his tail hitting the dirt made her jump. Looking up, she was met once again with cold, unreadable eyes.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice low.

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she deflected. “I’ll find something for your wound.”

He didn’t press the matter, his mouth turning down. She stood up and went to a nearby shrub to collect leaves and grass for a make-shift bandage. It only took a few minutes to gather the materials, but it was enough time to process this newest revelation. It wasn’t her place to judge what Vegeta might have done to protect them. The laws of man didn’t apply here. Violence wasn’t a sin. It was self-defense. A matter of survival. Would she rather he did nothing and let her get eaten? Of course not.

When she returned she found Vegeta in the same place, only with the air of a kicked puppy hanging over him. Shoulders slumped, ears flattened, and hand clutching his shoulder, he looked the most miserable — and human — that she had seen yet.

His ears perked up at her arrival. 

Bulma sat close so that she could easily see his shoulder, her leg pressed up against his. Even through the coarse fabric of his pants, she could feel the heat from him seep into her leg. His whole body radiated with it.

“I can bind this, but it might get infected,” she explained.

He let go of his shoulder. “My body is not as weak as yours. There will be no infection,” he assured, his tone quiet.

She started working on his wound. Vegeta still looked deflated. Blood dripped from his fingers. Blood he had spilt for her. Every drop compacted her guilt. She sighed.

“Thank you.”

He looked at her, uncertain. “For what?”

“For protecting me.”

His fingers furled and opened, restless. “You need not thank me.”

“Well, I am. And, I’m… I’m sorry I got you involved with whatever is going on. But I’m grateful to have met you, and for your help.”

At first he said nothing. Then, after a minute, he sat up straighter. “Hn. The alpha protects and provides,” he said. Boasting. His tail shifted and loosely rested against her side.

She smiled, charmed by him despite herself. Pushing aside how cute he was for now, Bulma focused on his shoulder, applying more leaves and grass to stop the bleeding. His skin was warm and pliable under her fingertips. Just like her own. Maybe he wasn’t so inhuman after all.

“You’ve done this before,” he commented, admiring the way she worked.

“A little,” she admitted. On a dog, but Bulma decided that didn’t need mentioning. 

“There,” she finally announced, done with his bandage. She brushed back her bangs to admire her handiwork. “How is that?”

He rotated his shoulder experimentally. “Hn. Satisfactory.”

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.

Still, it felt good to have done something useful and to repay the debt she owed him in some small way. “You’re _welcome_. Now, we just need to find a stream to wash the blood off and, oh.”

Vegeta raised his arm and used his tongue to remove the blood. That worked too, she supposed. His eyes moved up to watch her. They shone with a strange iridescence. Did he have night vision like other nocturnal creatures she had read about? There was so much about him she still didn’t know. He was so fey, unreal. It was enthralling.

He smiled, his eyes narrowing. It made her stomach lurch. Why was he looking at her that way? He stopped grooming and held out his palm.

“Hands,” he demanded.

She looked down and saw her fingers were covered in his blood. Wait. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he did? “Um, no, that’s okay, I’ll— Vegeta!”

Ignoring her protests, he took her wrists and tugged her into his lap. She fell against him, helpless against his brute strength. Baba would lose her mind if the old crone could see her in a strange man’s lap now. Eyes widening, Bulma braced herself as Vegeta lowered his head and licked the blood off her fingers.

 _Ew_. It’s what she wanted to say. Should say. Only the word go lost somewhere from thought to speech, derailed by a spike of adrenalin that made her breath hitch and her heart pound erratically. Why did it feel… good? “Vegeta, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel. His grip tightened on her wrists to keep her still. “They can track blood.”

“I thought you said you took care of… it.”

“I took care of one. But there are always more.”

The news should have frightened her, but all she could focus on was what he was doing with her hands. One by one he popped her fingers into his mouth, careful of his sharp canines as he sucked her dainty fingers clean. His tongue was warm and clever, making her squirm and her face blush. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were as black as night, a shadowy world where a lurking beast hunted for lost little girls to devour. His pupils were fully dilated. Hungry.

He let her last pinkie finger pop free of his mouth, licking his lips for any remaining blood. He raised his head to meet her gaze straight on. Nose to nose. His nostrils flared, sniffing the air between them. For some reason, it made her blush even harder than before. He was smelling her, she just knew it. And some deep, animalistic part of her hoped he liked her scent.

Embarrassed of what she felt, Bulma lowered her gaze. She didn’t trust herself to look at him. He made her feel all sorts of things. Good, warm, gooey things that she didn’t dare name.

He let her hands go and brushed aside her bangs. “Are you afraid, little one?” 

That question again. Was she afraid? Vegeta was dangerous, he had proven. But… no. It wasn’t fear that made her heart beat wildly. It was something else. A burning fire that ignited an ache inside her.

“No,” she whispered.

He nudged her cheek with his nose, his big hands drifting to settle on her narrow waist. “Keep still then. There’s more blood on your face.”

She couldn’t form an answer so she nodded. He dragged his warm, wet tongue over her cheek.

Time stopped. Bulma forgot how to breathe. With long slow swipes, he cleaned the blood from her face, moving lower and lower until he had cleaned her jaw and moved on to her throat. He brushed aside her hair to expose the long slender column of her neck. The cool air made her shiver, but his warm caress soon comforted her. He mouthed at her frantic pulse before dragging sharp canines over it. Teasing. She whimpered, and he backed off, licking her throat in apology. Even so, his hands tightened on her waist, and his tail began to wag. Every little caress broke her just a little more until she was a compliant puddle in his arms, gasping for air.

She was drowning. Melting all over him. He grazed her tender flesh again with his teeth, his fingers tightening and loosening on her waist as if he could barely keep himself in check. It was a battle he was losing, his nips growing rougher and more insistent, until at last his tail encircled her hips and he sank his teeth into her — just enough to make her mewl. She shuddered, her hands fisting in his shirt. Never had she felt so dominated, or so undone. He responded, a deep rumbling —  like thunder —  resonating from his chest and reverberating throughout her. A growl of victory.

 Somewhere off in the distance a bird cried out.

Vegeta jerked away as if struck by lightening. Breathing raggedly, he scanned their surroundings, ears flickering this way and that. His hands pulled her protectively against his chest. Finally, with a curse, he staggered to his feet and pulled her up with him. She had to cling to his neck, her legs barely supporting her weight.

“Come, it’s not safe here. We have to keep moving,” he announced, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what?” Keep moving? But, but…

Vegeta gently detangled himself from her arms and, with a guilty look, removed his tail from her hips. Grabbing her basket, he scattered the leaves to hide their tracks. Bulma struggled to collect her thoughts, still quivering with need. What had happened? She had felt so amazingly feminine and desired in his arms. Why did he stop? Why did she feel this way? What did it mean? But before she could puzzle any of it out, Vegeta took her hand and pulled her away. She stumbled after him, deeper into the forest.

 

* * *

-xoXox-

 

 **AN:** >:)

Thanks so much to Stupidoomdoodles for helping me keep this real and fix some things up. 

And thanks to everyone who has commented and sent encouragement so far ^_^

Follow me on Twitter or Tumblr etc (I’m ‘ladyvegeets’ across the board) for updates and general vegebul fandom stuff.


	4. 04

**-Red-**

04

 

The cool forest breeze danced across her skin and tugged playfully at the soft ends of her hair. It was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from where Vegeta’s hand held hers, pulling her behind him.

Bulma barely paid attention to where she put her feet. She was floating, a dandelion dancing on the breeze of memories that their tangled fingers invoked: strong hands on her waist, a hot mouth on her throat, and a growl ripping through her that left her in shivering shreds of need.

She didn’t see the tree root and tripped right into him. His grip on her hand kept her from falling.

“Are you okay?” He steadied her and looked her over, his ears flicking in what she guessed was concern. “Am I going too fast?”

Stupid. Clumsy. She shook her head, ducking her face in embarrassment. “No, sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

It was meant to be reassuring but had the opposite effect. He was careful of his claws as he took her chin between his fingers and gently raised her gaze to meet his. Deep black eyes searched hers and he frowned at what he saw. He pressed a hand to her brow. Little butterflies burst inside her.

“You should be resting,” he sighed, mouth turning down. He glanced off into the distance, his ears still flicking as he considered their options. “…My den isn’t far. We can head there across the river.”

“Your den?” So he _did_ have a home, and she was going to see it. Ooh, how fun! Bulma couldn’t help bursting with curiosity. What kind of place did a Úlfhé _ð_ nar prince live in? “What’s it like?”

Vegeta grimaced at her enthusiasm, letting her go. “You’ll see soon enough. Don’t get too excited. It’s not much.”

Like that was going to deter her, a million questions and possibilities already filling her mind, fueled by stories of princes she had read about as a child. Did Vegeta live in the wild, or did he have some kind of structure? Were there others of his kind there? He claimed to be a prince, did that mean there was a king? Would she need to curtsy or bow before someone? For that matter, was it okay for her to show up in her dirty outdoor garments? The last thing she wanted to do was to embarrass him or herself. Grabbing his hand in both of hers, Bulma looked up at him, bouncing on her toes. “I’m honored you’d invite me. Should I bring something? Am I dressed appropriately for such a visit?”

“Dressed approp—?” He spluttered, and despite himself his eyes wandered over her outfit before he remembered himself and guiltily jerked his head away. She couldn’t see his face, but the back of his neck started turning red. “You’re _fine_ ,” he grumbled, tugging on her hand to lead them in a different direction. Bulma bit her lip to stop her laughter. _Now_ he wanted to be shy after nearly devouring her on the forest floor not too long ago? She decided not to press the matter, lest he changed his mind about taking her to his den. She tried to pay more attention to where she put her feet this time.

Soon enough the roar of a river could be heard. They breached the tree line and came across a vast channel. If it was the same river from before, it had grown much wider and the current much stronger. Bulma let Vegeta’s hand go to run over to the river’s edge and collapse on the bank, grateful to rest her feet and have a drink. But when she put her hand in the water, the freezing current smacked it out. “Ouch!” she clutched her stinging fingers to her chest.

A soft chuckle erupted at her side. “Here, idiot girl.” Vegeta crouched next to her and angled his hands in a way that the water could pool into them, then offered his cupped hands to her. “Drink.”

It was such a little gesture, but Bulma struggled not to blush from it. She supported his hands in her own and bowed her head to drink. The water quickly washed away her reservations, parching her dry throat and sending ripples of relief through her. With a wet gasp she looked up at him expectantly. “More!”

The corner of his mouth turned up, and he obliged. She gratefully gulped down a second handful.

“Thank you.”

He hummed his acknowledgement, looking down at their hands. His expression turned somber. “…I wish there was more I could do.”

He couldn’t be serious. “You’ve already done more than enough,” she tried to reassure, her eyes flicking helplessly to his wounded shoulder. Guilt twisted in her belly, churning the river water—

_Gaaaaaooooowwr!_

—hungrily?

Bulma’s eyes widened and she turned bright red, pressing her arms tightly against her traitorous stomach. She didn’t have to ask if Vegeta heard. Half the damn forest had.

“You are hungry.”

Ugh, thank you for that redundant statement. Thoroughly humiliated, Bulma had to concede that she wasn’t just hungry, she was _starving_. When had she last eaten? There had been the mushroom, and before that a light breakfast. That had been hours ago. No wonder her stomach rumbled.

“Once we’re at my den, I’ll hunt for you. I am an excellent hunter,” Vegeta announced, his eyes dancing with pride. It lessened her embarrassment somewhat. He didn’t care that her stomach growled in an unladylike fashion, only that he could easily remedy the situation.

“What do you hunt?”

“There is much game here: duck, hare, badger. Some deer and elk. The occasional bear.”

“Bear?” Bulma looked about the river in alarm as if expecting to see one. She scooted closer to Vegeta until their knees bumped together.

He gave her a wry half-smile. “Most will be hibernating by now.”

“But you hunt them? Fight them?”

“Sometimes.”

Bulma looked at him with a mix of fear and awe. “Aren’t you scared?”

His smile wilted, taking on a sadder quality. “You only fear what you can lose. I don’t fear much these days.”

His eyes were impossible to read, like trying to find meaning in the stars at night. Bulma lowered her gaze, and it fell to her basket.

Her basket… Oh! How could she forget? She pulled it into her lap and dug about the bottom. “I just remembered, I was saving these for the boys but I think we’ve earned them.”

Vegeta cocked his head, watching her search. “What is it?”

Aha! She pulled out a little parcel wrapped in a handkerchief and offered it to him. “It’s a pasty. They’re like little pies with meat and vegetables inside.” Bulma demonstrated by unwrapping it and breaking it in half. “See?”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at the foreign food. But, much like a stray dog, he was tempted in for closer sniff. His tail gave a cautious wag. “The meat… it smells strange.”

“It’s spiced,” Bulma explained. “It makes it tastier, I promise. They’re really quite delicious.” She brought half to her mouth and took a bite, humming in pleasure as the flavor melted over her tongue.

Vegeta watched her, ears perking. Encouraged by her reaction, he took the other half and gave it one more sniff before popping the whole thing into his mouth. His tail wagged happily as he chewed, and soon his eyes fell onto her basket in the hopes of more.

Bulma laughed. “See? I told you they were good. The boys are crazy about them too.” She pulled out another pasty for him which he eagerly tore into. “If you like them so much, I can make you more.”

He looked at her with surprise. “You made these?”

She smiled and nodded, pulling out another for herself to eat. “Yes. My mother has been teaching me, and I’ve been writing her recipes in a book.”

“What’s a book?”

Bulma nearly dropped her pasty in horrified shock. “…What do you mean, what’s a book?”

He didn’t seem to notice her incredulity, too focused on his treat. “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

Bulma had never been so offended in her life, not because of him, but for him. How could you go through life without books? “Um, it’s… a device where we record written stories and knowledge.”

“Written?”

Oh no, he couldn’t be serious. He didn’t know what writing was? Despairing at this great injustice, Bulma smoothed out a section of the damp earth between them and wrote her name in the soil with her finger. “Writing. Like this?” she was clinging desperately to the hope that this was all just a translation issue.

Vegeta cocked his head at her scrawled name, and nodded sagely. “Ah, we call that markings.”

Bulma sighed with relief. See, just a misunderstanding, that was all.

Vegeta reached out and pawed over her name with his claws, leaving a great gaping gash in the earth. It was rudimentary for a written language, but Bulma didn’t want to be discourteous and judge another culture by her own. “What does that mean?” she inquired politely.

He looked baffled. “Mean? There’s only one meaning.”

“Which is?”

“‘Mine _.’_ We mark our territory this way.”

 _Markings_. It wasn’t writing at all but territorial marking. Bulma had read about animals doing that. In books. Which Vegeta obviously had no concept of because his people didn’t even write.

“Our markings are… a little more complex,” she tried to explain without sounding condescending. “They can express many things. In fact, everything we say can be written, and then read by someone else. It’s how I learned a lot of what I know.” She smoothed out the earth and wrote his name, at least, as far as she could guess it would be spelled. “See? This says Vegeta. Vu-GEE-tah.”

Vegeta frowned, his half-eaten pasty forgotten as he watched her spell out his own name. _Thump!_ “What else can you write?”

“Anything at all… Let’s see…” Bulma daintily carved — to the best of her ability — his people’s name. “YULF-heth-nar.”

Vegeta went still, his half-eaten pasty forgotten and his eyes fixing with an unknown emotion on the word. He reached out and gently traced the letters with his fingers. For a moment Bulma feared she had offended him, and was ready to formulate an apology when he gently smoothed over the word with a reverence used for burying the dead.

“We have no use for such a skill in the forest,” he said quietly. “But I can see its merit.” There was a moment of silence where he collected himself, then looked up at her. “I take it you’ve read a lot of these… books?”

Unable to shake the feeling she had upset him, Bulma let him change the topic and nodded. “Aside from my father, I’m the most well read in the village.”

“Hn. You must be highly valued to your people for your knowledge.”

She frowned despite herself, years of indignation bubbling to the surface. Her fingers tightened on her pasty’s handkerchief. “You would think so, but girls aren’t supposed to be well-read.”

He gave her an odd look. “What does your gender have to do with your intelligence?”

“Right?” she exclaimed, grateful and relieved that he saw things the same way as she did. “That’s what I always thought and my father said as much too, but most of the people in the village don’t see the value of an educated woman.”

He scoffed. “Sounds like they are fools not worthy of your time.”

Bulma laughed, feeling a lightness she hadn’t in a long while. It felt good to be understood. “Pretty much. I don’t really spend much time there at any rate.”

“Is that why you visit the old man and pups instead?”

She blinked, taking a moment to realize he meant Roshi, Goku, and Krillin. She took a thoughtful bite of her pasty and considered his question. “Mm, I suppose so. It does get lonely at home. The boys aren’t stimulating company, but they’re genuine, and they don’t judge me like the villagers do.” Then the full implication of his question sank in, and she cast him a shrewd look. “And can I take that to mean you have little better to do than spy on how often I visit Turtle Lake?”

A blush crept up his face and he looked away, shoving the last of his meal into his mouth and chewed it slowly to avoid answering her.

“Well?” she pressed. If he thought he could out-wait her, he was about to be sorely disappointed. She was very good at interrogating people, and right now she was determined to get to the bottom of him watching her comings and goings. “Care to explain yourself?”

He scowled, his tail twisting like a snake trying to escape a trap. “The old man’s den borders my land. I like to keep an eye on those that pass through. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Bulma narrowed her eyes as if she could glare the truth out of him. His jaw clenched under her scrutiny, his regal cheeks still pink. If she had to guess, he was telling the truth — just not all of it. He was hiding something, but whatever it was it didn’t feel malicious. Besides, she didn’t have much room for criticism. She was the outsider here, not him. This was his home and he had never tried to hurt her or the boys before. And he was right, she wasn’t subtle when she walked the path in a bright red hood and singing to herself as she went. No wonder he had noticed her, whether he wanted to or not.

“Well, next time come say hello. I can introduce you.”

He grimaced. “…Humans don’t usually react well to my kind.”

“Don’t be silly. The boys would adore you. For that matter, so would my parents.” She was convinced of it. Her mother and father loved to collect and take care of eclectic stray animals. They had fostered ravens, boars, and snakes among other things. A man with a tail and ears would hardly raise an eyebrow. “If you think my cooking is good, wait until you try my mother’s. She won’t let you leave until she’s fed you three winter’s worth of meals, and my father will want to know everything about your culture. The only thing you have to worry about is them not leaving you alone.”

“Ah, so _that’s_ where you get it from,” Vegeta commented wryly, his eyes glimmering with silent laughter.

Oh, he thought he was funny. Bulma poked out her tongue. “Just for that, I’m not sharing anymore food with you.”

 _Thump!_ His eyes still dancing, Vegeta licked his canines clean and leaned in to her, bracing thick arms either side of her. Bulma went still, her heart beating faster at his sudden proximity.

Slowly, he bent down to inhale the scents of her basket still in her lap. His nostrils flared as he breathed in, his eyes dragging up to lock with hers. His gaze burned with a dark hunger.

“You have more to spare. I’ve saved your life, the least you can do is repay me.”

Wow… He was only _play_ -threatening, right? Bulma swallowed against her dry throat, trying not to appear intimidated. She lifted her nose at him. “It’s polite to say ‘please’, you know.”

The corner of his lip curled up, obsidian eyes flashing with excitement. “ _Please_.” The growled syllable rolled over her, raking at her nerves and leaving her raw and tingly.

She was helpless to stop the heat that burst through her. Desperately she tried one last-ditch effort to cling to propriety and fend him off. “Why do you need my food? I thought you were a good hunter.”

His teeth flashed in a feral smile. “I am. Very. So good in fact that my prey doesn’t even know when it’s cornered.”

He meant her of course, if only in jest. But what surprised her was that she _wanted_ him to mean it. Liquid excitement bubbled inside her, quickening her breath as she waited to see his next move. Hoping he would make one. _Please, make one…_

He watched her carefully, judging her interest. When she didn’t shrink away he rubbed his cheek to hers and inhaled deeply. A growl rumbled pleasantly in his chest. “Smells good.”

“The food?”

“You.” His voice was gruff, struggling to form speech.

 _Baba, forgive me._ Bulma gave in, letting go all the inhibitions she had been raised to adhere to. Her eyes fell closed as she rested her cheek against his, enjoying the intimacy. “Like sunshine and strawberries?”

He huffed a laugh against her ear. “Sweeter.”

It was sweet relief when his tail cinched comfortingly about her waist.

“I do not smell a mate on you,” he added. “Have you not taken one?”

Wh-what? Bulma struggled to swim back up from the sensations she was drowning in to focus on the sudden question. “A mate?”

“Yes.” He leaned back enough to see her face, cocking his head to one side. “Is it not your way? Úlfhé _ð_ nar mate for life.”

Her heart fluttered furiously, flustered by his question. “I-I suppose we do, though it depends on the person.”

“And of you? You have not taken one?” he pressed. Insistent.

Bulma felt her panic crest, the color draining from her face. She looked down at her lap.

Had she taken a mate?

One bright spring day she had given her first kiss to Yamcha. It took weeks to coax the shy village boy into shirking his wood-cutting duties to talk to her, let alone persuade him to take her out on the lake. There, in her father’s rowboat and under the shade of her parasol, she received her first kiss, unaware the price was her heart. She was smitten. He was sweet and handsome and roguish, everything a young girl thought she wanted.

For weeks she begged and begged her mother for a new dress to wear to Summer Solstice, a popular festival where young couples danced about the maypole and wrapped ribbons and romantic hopes around it. Bulma never had reason to attend before, avoiding the ceremony and the vulgar village boys all together. But she showed up this year in a beautiful rusty-red dress her mother had labored to sew for her, white flowers in her hair and her heart on her sleeve.

Yamcha looked so handsome in his bleached tunic and dark breeches, joking loudly with the other boys as everyone lined up by the maypole. Their eyes met. Bulma offered him a hopeful smile, her cheeks warming at the memory of their kiss and the gentle way he had held her hand as he helped her from the boat. But he didn’t smile back. In fact he looked startled to see her. He glanced at his friends, all of whom were snickering unsubtly about the strange Briefs girl (and what nerve she had showing up!). She took a step towards him, and he one back. The color drained from her world as she watched him cowardly offer his arm to the baker’s daughter.

She made it all the way to the edge of the village before she collapsed to her knees and wept and wept under the summer night’s sky.

That was the end of her attempts at courtship.

“No,” she whispered. She had not taken a mate.

Gentle fingers brushed away her bangs that had fallen over her eyes. Bulma glanced up and saw Vegeta’s solemn expression, his ears flattened. He had picked up on her heartache. “It is a good thing you were not born Úlfhé _ð_ nar, little one.”

“Why is that?” Bulma asked, grateful to be distracted from the memories of her failed romance.

He continued to brush her bangs, pushing the longer locks back behind her ear and gifting her a bitter-sweet smile. “It is our custom to fight for the affection of a mate. Sometimes to the death. Had you been Úlfhé _ð_ nar, so many would have died for your affection.”

Bulma ducked her head at the compliment — as barbaric as it was — , unsure why she felt a tight pressure squeezing on her chest. “Don’t be silly. I don’t want anyone to die for me.”

He huffed, his tail tightening around her waist. “It would have been no great loss. Only those foolish enough to go against me would have died.”

Time froze, and her breath lodged in her throat. Something had shifted, her whole world tilted, the axis pitching to the side. She began to _fall fall fall_ into an unknown chasm as deep and dark as his eyes. Only his tail kept her grounded. She must have misheard him or misunderstood. But when she searched his eyes for answers she found them strangely unguarded.

He looked at her in a way no one else ever had. He didn’t see an uncouth girl with a head filled with ‘nonsense’. He saw someone he _liked,_ so much so that he would fight to keep her.

“I—”

Suddenly his ears perked and his body tensed. He pulled her protectively against him, going still and tense. Waiting. He listened to sounds that her ears couldn’t perceive and she knew better than to protest. Then his tail unwound from her and he stood, his expression grim.

“Is there anything fragile in your basket?” he asked briskly.

Bulma shook her head, unnerved by the question and his sudden shift in demeanor.

“Your hood and boots. And the pelt. Give them to me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Please do as I say. We have little time.”

Oh god. They were still being hunted, weren’t they.

Bulma hurried to obey, her fingers shaking as she stripped off her outer layers. Vegeta removed a pouch from his waist and added it to her basket along with her clothing. Then, effortlessly, he lobbed the basket all the way to the other side of the river where it landed on its side in a shrub. It was an impressive throw, Bulma doubted even the strongest man in the village could achieve it.

He held out his hand to her. “We need to swim across.”

“Swim?” Bulma repeated, looking at the raging river in horror. She could swim of course, but her experience was limited to lakes and streams. She wasn’t confident about navigating something so wide and ferocious. And what of Vegeta? His arm was still wounded. How far could he swim with such an injury? “Your shoulder,” she reminded him anxiously.

He huffed, unconcerned. “It is fine. We have to go. Now.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Fear prickled her skin and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She looked behind her into the forest, half expecting to see something there, watching them.

He touched her chin, turning her attention back on him. “Don’t look back. I’ll be with you all the way.”

She nodded, and he gave her a brief but warm smile that helped ease some of her alarm.

They headed to the darkest part of the river where the water was deeper and the current less severe. The grass felt shockingly cool on her bare feet. He pointed downstream towards a sandy patch on the opposite bank.

“Aim for that spot. Don’t fight the current, swim with it and allow it carry you there. Prepare yourself, it’s going to be cold.”

Bulma felt her throat go dry as her toes kissed the edge of the river. He wasn’t kidding, it was freezing, and left her toes as numb. She squeezed his hand nervously. Oh god, oh god, she didn’t want to do this. There had to be another way!

His tail snaked around her middle, fastening her to him. “Ready?” he asked gravely.

No. But what choice did she have? She stood on the edge of the river much as she had done the doorway of the ‘haunted’ farmhouse, and tried to convince herself that her terror was merely courage. She nodded.

Vegeta pushed her in.

The shock of the water was worse than anything she could have imagined. The cold burned through her, stealing the air from her lungs and sending her nervous system into a panic. She kicked and failed until her head broke the water’s surface. Gasping, she tried to get her bearings. They were being swept downriver. Vegeta was already ahead of her, swimming with powerful strokes. If his left shoulder hurt him, he didn’t let it show. Only Vegeta’s tail kept them from being separated.

Bulma followed. Her limbs felt stiff, shivers wracking her and slowing her movement. Come on, Bulma, _fight_. It’s just water. Goku and Krillin do laps in Turtle Lake all year. Are you going to let two little boys get the better of—

Something brushed her foot. She screamed and thrashed. Vegeta turned around and swam the two strokes back to her. “What is it?!” He shouted over the roar of the water.

Without thinking she latched onto him and pressed up as close as she could get, her breathing frantic and fogging against his wet neck. “S-something touched me!”

Both of them treading water, Vegeta searched the river but couldn’t spot anything. “A fish or reed perhaps.”

Perhaps. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it had felt like fingers.

His hand rested firmly on the small of her back. “We need to keep swimming.”

Bulma looked up and to her dismay saw their destination drift by. Her little panic attack had thrown off their timing. Now the river was growing louder, the channel forming into faster rapids. Riddled with guilt and shame, she nodded, and somehow pried her arms off him. They picked up their strokes with renewed vigor.

Vegeta did most of the work, though Bulma did her best to keep up. He reached the bank first, pulling himself up in one fluid powerful gesture. He then turned and grabbed her wrists, lifting her up and into his arms, her feet touching the ground.

At last, they had made it! She clung to him, wet and shivering, adrenalin still pounding in her ears as freezing water pooled at their feet.

He rubbed her arms to help her circulation. God, he felt so achingly warm. “You did well, little one. We are safe now, they won’t cross the river.”

“Yes, because o-only crazy people w-would do that,” she sassed, barely getting the words out through her chattering teeth.

Vegeta’s mouth split into a wolfish grin. He cupped her face and pressed his nose to hers for a moment before letting her go. “My den is not far off. Wait here a moment, I will collect our things.” He hurried away, running back up river to where he had tossed her basket.

Bulma crouched down, hugging her knees to her chest as she waited in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Her nose still tingled from his touch. A soft smile formed on her lips.

Vegeta was only gone a minute, soon returning with her basket at a light jog. She stood to greet him.

It was hard to say what happened first, as it all felt like it happened at once. His eyes widened, her basket dropped, one of them screamed. Cold wet fingers grabbed her ankle and _pulled_.

“No, _BULMA!_ ”

The last thing she saw before the water swallowed her up was Vegeta diving for her, but too late. Then the icy rapids claimed her. She couldn’t swim, something had wrapped around her limbs like a vice. She was tossed downstream and struck a rock, and everything went—

 

~xoXox~

* * *

 

 **AN:** …

 


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